Wandering Phoenix
by robisbetterinharrypotter
Summary: 1975: Phuong is airlifted out of Vietnam as part of Operation Babylift. As a Vietnamese-American child, she does not know her father, but life takes an interesting turn when a man picks her up and drops her off at a summer camp in Long Island.
1. Prologue

**so here's my newest story becuase i just realized how much i hated my other stories. I've had this in my mind for a while but i never really developed it until a couple days ago. some things about this story need to be explained first. **

**1. no, i dont own percy jackson, obviously  
2. i love writing fanfictions that are intertwined with history, so just keep your mind open when you read this. i know it seems boring but trust me, it should get better in a chapter or two. ****  
3. i know it isn't totally historically accurate, so dont bother me about that.  
4. if, for any reason, you should feel offended by this (although i have no reason why you would be, since it's a percy jackson fanfiction), just don't be because i didn't intend it to be. I'm just writing it because i love history.  
5. dont bother me about not having quotation marks in the latter half of this chapter. i know, i know, but i'm trying something new. I just started reading Angela's Ashes, and Frank McCourt doesn't use quotation marks. I'm pretty much doing it becuase my character are speaking in Vietnamese, and, since I can't, I'd just do it like that unless they were speaking English.**

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"Mama! Mama!"

A tall, buff soldier with rough, tanned skin, sunglasses, and a buzz cut grabbed Phuong by the arm. The five-year-old let out a high pitched scream and started crying, but the man hoisted the little girl over his shoulder and ran through the crowd. They were near the city limits, and the American carried her not far, just outside. The girl kicked and screamed, beat the man's back, cried, and punched his head with her little fists but he didn't let her go. Large blades of a helicopter beat like wings behind her, and her hair blew into her face. Her mother did not follow, but waited, screaming meaningless words that Phuong could not hear. Both were crying as the man hopped into the helicopter and set her down with a couple other children. They were all around her age or a couple years older, very much like her in many ways. They were all skinny and small, with light brown or honey-colored or darker, curly hair. Several had a lighter complexion than most Vietnamese, some darker, and one of them had several freckles splattered across his cheeks. The man returned a few minutes later with another child, then closed the door, and they set off.

The helicopter slowly lifted into the air. Phuong sat whimpering with the other children, and soon she fell into a long, deep sleep. She woke often when her head fell to the side, or when the child next to her moved. Occasionally, they would stop, and a man would pick her up and carry her somewhere else, but her eyes were too heavy to stay awake and see where they were going. She often heard voices speaking in a strange language, but they got jumbled around in her brain so much it could have very well been her own.

* * *

Phuong woke up again while they were moving, but they weren't flying anymore. She was with some other kids she saw in the flying thing, one sleeping and one staring straight at her. City streets raced by her. It must have been a big city. Roads were smooth and covered with black-gray stone. Buildings grew from the ground everywhere, reflecting the sunlight. They weren't dull and broken like at home; instead, they shone and radiated health to the world. People walked on the side, not crowded into the streets, carrying only small handbags instead of chickens or pigs or whatever else people would be lugging around. They all looked like the soldiers back at home, tall and funny-looking. Even the women looked like the soldiers, some of them had hair like sun and some of them had puffy brown hair and even a few had hair like fire. Hair isn't supposed to be like fire, is it?

Sometimes she saw groups of people, young ones, with long hair and beards and all kinds of funny-looking clothes. They held signs in front of buildings, shouting and screaming, and more soldiers but in blue held them back. Phuong cranked down the window and heard the screaming, louder, and the only word she recognized was the one she missed the most; Vietnam. City noises were let in too, and the rush of the wind whipped her hair to one of side of her face. Streets were covered, not with bikes, but with different things, bigger, and metal, with more people inside of them. Some were red, some were black, some were green, some were fancy and others were beat up, and some had people inside them having a good time singing in a strange language. A kid about twice Phuong's age in the thing next to her looked out the window in her direction. He tapped his father on the shoulder and pointed, and the father stole a glance in her direction, then kept on driving.

Finally they arrived at a large building, and the man who was also in the car went inside. A woman came back out and grabbed the hands of the two other children and walked them inside, then came again for Phuong. She led her through a waiting room with a front desk and chairs, through a hallway with several classrooms, a dining hall, a play room, then upstairs into a long hall with many, many doors on either side. Throughout her walk Phuong saw kids, lots of them. Some her age, some slightly younger, some much older. They all looked like her; Vietnamese but not Vietnamese. Like her. Kids in the village teased her for it, would not let her play in their games. They called her con lai, bui doi. Mixed-race child, uncared-for child, living dust. Not because her mother did not marry and had her anyways but because her father was American and he left before she was born. She didn't know there were others. Finally she could play games with the other children, because maybe they were teased and bullied and couldn't play games with the other kids.

The woman led her to a room near the end of the hall. She opened a door, and inside, there were three other little girls about her age. Two were playing with dolls on the pink rug, and another was sitting on the lower of two bunk beds, reading a picture book out loud in English. The woman spoke to the girl sitting on the bed, then she left, leaving Phuong in the room with the other girls. The girl with the book stood up and spoke to Phuong in Vietnamese, for she did not know any English.

Did they pick you up in the banana helicopter? the girl asked.

Yes, I think so.

Did they take you away from your mother too?

Phuong only nodded and tears blurred her vision.

They took me last year, because I didn't know my father.

I didn't have one.

They took me and brought me here and baptized me and told me my name was Maria now. Before, they called me Mai.

I'm Phuong.

That's Carmen, Maria pointed at one of the girls with freckles. She doesn't have a Vietnamese name because her mother wanted her to be American like her father. She lived near Saigon and she was already baptized when she was a little baby. That's Ly, she pointed to the other girl, and she got here last week. She's like you, that's what Ms. Cunningham said, she doesn't know any English. Carmen knows some because she grew up in the city and went to school for a while, but she's only been here about a week. I never went to school but I learned English here. Reading, writing, and speaking. I've been watching the television and President Ford says that they're taking all the Vietnamese-American kids out of Vietnam before the Communists get them.

What's a television? Phuong asked.

It's a box where you can see what people are doing from far away. Some of them are live, and are actually happening, but others are written to make you laugh and cry.

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**i hope you like it and i hope you keep reading. I'm not sure when I'll have the next chapter up, maybe tomorrow, but i doubt it. maybe this week though. **

**I'd really appreciate if you'd review, too. **


	2. Meeting Ben

**so it's been almost a week and i've uploaded again. i really hope you like it. i've started carrying a composition book around school and writing in my spare time, on the way home, in bed, etc. and i've not been using facebook as much to write more, although i have had more homework than usual, so it kind of cancels out. but don't worry, this week i should have less homework and therefore more time to write. But in my composition i've been writing for another story i'm also in the middle of, "Year One" (go check it out!-subliminal messaging) but i will try to write for this one in my comp. book. ok, no more rambling, on with the story! enjoy!**

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I've been at the orphanage for six years. They baptized Ly and we had to call her Victoria from then on, but when we're alone in our rooms we still speak Vietnamese and call each other by our birth names. They tried to baptize me and I screamed bloody murder, but they call me Virginia anyways. My roommates became good friends, also Qui (Georgia), another girl my age from down the hall, and Ngai and Thao, two other boys my age. We call them Alexander and Joseph, respectively. We learned to speak, read, and write English, but the reading and writing is hard because I think there's something wrong with my brain and the letters get mixed up and it gives me a great headache to read. I'm not stupid, it's just I don't do very well in school because I can't pay attention and read.

I think it's funny that Georgia and I are such good friends because they're states. Ms. Cunningham tells me that America is the land of opportunity but I still question that. The orphanage doesn't seem to give us much opportunity because we have to wait here for our fathers to claim us, or a family to adopt us. No one really wants leftovers from the war, especially the Americans. Occasionally a Vietnamese family will adopt a kid, but whenever someone adopts it's always a little kid. We can't go back to Vietnam because they think the Communists would recognize our light brown hair and green eyes and get us because we're half American. _I _have light brown hair and green eyes. I don't remember much of Vietnam or my mother, and I used to be able to hear her voice in my head but I can't anymore.

The orphanage didn't treat us badly, but I was somewhat relieved when they told me that they had found my father; or rather, he found me. I'm not sure how, but he did. I knew I would miss my friends, and I told them I would write letters if I could handle it. It's the beginning of the summer of 1981 and I'm waiting in the front office because my "father" is signing papers. I don't know who this man is.

He's wearing dark jeans and a leather jacket, like one of those heavy-metal guys. He's got a military-style buzz cut and sunglasses, even though we're inside. I gasped as I saw a scene from my past, one I had suppressed, from the air, from the eye of an outsider.

_A tall, buff soldier with rough, tanned skin, sunglasses, and a buzz cut grabbed Phuong by the arm. The five-year-old let out a high pitched scream and started crying, but the man hoisted the little girl over his shoulder and ran through the crowd._

Tears filled my eyes, and I followed the man out the door and into his large black pickup truck. It had flames painted on either side. I felt like prey willfully climbing into the mouth of the monster. He put my small trunk in the back, and then climbed into the drivers seat. This man was not my father. I did not have the wide, crude, face, or his broad, rough shoulders or buff, stocky build. I'm sure he didn't have my green eyes behind those creepy sunglasses, and he didn't have my slightly-upturned nose either. My heart sped up as I started panicking. I rocked back and forth in my seat and tears rolled down my cheek silently. This was not my father. I was being kidnapped.

I'm not sure if he noticed my agitation, but he kept driving. Finally, he spoke, in a rough, deep voice. "I am not your father. He sent me to pick you up. He wants me to take you to summer camp. We're taking a plane to New York."

Great. My father wants to claim me, but instead of taking me home, he wants to take me to a summer camp. I doubt I'll ever meet him in between. This is such a waste of time, I might as well be back at the orphanage with my friends. It's not like anything dangerous will happen there.

He drove us to LAX and we took the next flight to New York, then took a cab out into the country or something. Well, it had green, rolling hills, and you could see the beach beyond them. Sometimes we went to the crowded beach back at the orphanage, but it didn't look so crowded here. In fact, it looked cold and there wasn't anyone on the beach.

My "father" stopped at the side of the road in the middle of nowhere. A wooden sign nearby said something about strawberries, and when I stepped outside I could smell them, a sweet, heavy scent that made the air feel warmer and more summery. He got my trunk out of the back and handed it to me. "Over that hill, there," he pointed "is your camp. You'll see a house down below with a porch. Ask for Chiron. Get there as quick as you can."

He handed me my trunk and got in his truck, and I glanced up at the hill. When I turned around again, he was gone. I trudged up the hill with my trunk, but decided to jog, just to be safe. I got to the top, and I felt a warm breeze blown up from the valley below. The scent of strawberries was even stronger up here. I jogged down to the house with a porch and knocked. A man in a wheelchair answered.

"Are you Chiron?"

"Yes, I am."

"Hi, I'm Virginia. A man picked me up from the orphanage in Los Angeles and brought me here."

"Well, I guess you got in the boundary, so there's no reason why you aren't a demigod."

"Excuse me?" I asked.

"Come on in, I'll tell you."

* * *

"So you're saying my father is a Greek god?"

"This whole camp is for demigods like you. They were raised by one parent."

"Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh," I kept repeating. I stood up and paced around the room, panicking and hyperventilating.

"You're lucky that Ares brought you to camp before your scent got strong. Around your age a half-blood's scent will get strong and a monster will come after you and then you're done for."

"Who's Ares? And what kind of monsters? Wait, what about Camp Half-Blood?"

"Ares is the Greek god of war. He is the man that brought you here," said Chiron. I gasped. "Any kind of monsters. I'd rather have you read about them, though."

"I can't read very well. It gives me a headache."

"It's because you're a demigod," explained Chiron. "You can't read English because your brain is meant to read ancient Greek. Here," he handed me a thick book. "It's an encyclopedia on ancient Greece. Starting with history: the Titans, and then the age of the Gods, which we are in now. Then the stories of the heroes: Hercules, Perseus, Theseus, Achilles, and such. There's also an index and a glossary of the individual Titans and Gods—Olympians and minor gods. Monsters, too. And Constellations. Everything you need to know. And it's written in ancient Greek so you can read it."

"Um, thanks."

"And I'll show you where you'll be bunking until you are claimed by your father, whoever he may be."

"When will that be?"

"I don't know. Some take longer than others. For now you'll be stay in the Hermes cabin. He's the god of travelers, so all the unclaimed half-bloods stay there until they are claimed."

Chiron led me down to a U-shaped arrangement of cabins. One of them had a winged sandal above the door, and he opened that particular one. It was significantly larger than the other cabins, and for a good reason. It was jam-packed from Hermes' children and the unclaimed kids. Good golly.

"Ben!" Chiron called, and teenager about fifteen or sixteen came over. He was tall and thin, but athletic, and had green eyes. Light brown hair curled into soft locks on his forehead and ears, and he had an upturned, slightly crooked nose. His straight, regal stature and handsome features reminded me of Michelangelo's David. Except he had a pizza face.

"Ben, this is Virginia. She hasn't been claimed, but you know what to do. You can get supplies from the camp store room." Then Chiron left.

"Hey Virginia—I'm Ben. I'm the cabin leader for the Hermes cabin. He's my dad." He offered his hand, and I took it. "If you're wondering why there are so many kids here, it's because he's the god of travelers, so we get all the unclaimed kids until they do get claimed. Come on, let's go get your stuff."

I set down my trunk and he brought me down to the supply store. Ben led me past a basketball and volleyball court, a sort of outdoor mess hall, and a lake. A forest lined the edge of the camp, beyond the Big House, as I learned later. Ben pulled out a bobby pin and picked the lock to the store room. I was astonished to see that he was able to break in within a minute.

"Stay out here," he stepped in. "Okay…sleeping bag. Blue or purple?"

"Purple."

"Toothbrush…toothpaste…Towel. What color towel would you like?"

"Do you have purple?"

"Yeah. And you might want a swimsuit. I'm assuming your favorite color is purple?"

"Yes," I replied. He came out holding a red and purple swimsuit, and held it up to me for size.

"I think a medium will do." He ducked back in again and came out again, also carrying a bright orange shirt and two bags in his hand. One toiletry bag and one beach tote.

"You're gonna wanna put your name on your stuff, otherwise you'll lose it. Or someone will take it. We're known for that." He winked.

I followed him back to the cabin mindlessly.

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**thanks for reading. i hope you like it. **

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